


How To Touch It

by GiggleSnortBangDead



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-11 19:55:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GiggleSnortBangDead/pseuds/GiggleSnortBangDead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He sat and stared at Stiles, unsure of what to do or say after that. He battled the desire to fix his pants and dart out the window in shame and frustration. Considering what Stiles had just done for him, that seemed impolite.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How To Touch It

Stiles took it into his mouth like it was easy. By no means a task for the unskilled or incompetent, but a simple enough gesture. Derek had only done this with one other person, and she had had much more experience. She had obviously known the ins and outs of sucking cock and that, in and of itself, had been exciting. Her technique was an added bonus. 

The boy lacked such a finesse, such a savoir faire, but he made up for it with enthusiasm and it had been a very long time since for Derek. Stiles couldn’t take him all the way into his mouth, couldn’t fit him down his throat, but he sucked hard, with a purpose. It was as if sucking Derek’s cock was all Stiles had ever wanted to do.

Derek didn’t touch him, couldn’t touch him, no matter how much he might have wanted to. He just threaded his fingers into the sheets and held on for dear life. Even when Stiles glanced up to check Derek’s face and the boy looked approachable, reachable, he had refrained. He didn’t know how to place his hand on the back of the boy’s head. He didn’t know if he was supposed to push back, or pet the short hairs, curling and damp with sweat, at the nape of the boy’s neck or simply rest his hand there. So, he refrained. 

And when Derek came, Stiles sucked down most of it, except a little which smeared on his cheek. He didn’t move to wipe it off and Derek felt like he should reach forward and brush it away or, better yet, lean in and lick the corner of the boy’s red, obscene, open mouth and taste himself. He could feel himself aching to do that. 

But he didn’t. He sat and stared at Stiles, unsure of what to do or say after that. He battled the desire to fix his pants and dart out the window in shame and frustration. Considering what Stiles had just done for him, that seemed impolite. 

Stiles frowned at him as the silence stretched on. His lips were puffy and wet, a flush high on his cheeks. He was starting to look more and more hurt as Derek just sat there and was getting restless with his movements. He had possessed a sort of calm grace for the past few minutes which was quickly slipping away as he became more nervous. 

“Was I really that bad?” His tone lacked its usual flippancy and confidence. He sounded raw, fucked, sad. When Derek continued to sit blankly, as if his brain was lagging, Stiles huffed and opened his mouth to speak again.

“I just don’t know how...” Derek cut in, reaching one hand out only to leave it hovering between them with no destination. “I don’t know how to...”

“To what?” Stiles asked.

“How to touch you.” Derek’s lips were pressed into a firm line.

Stiles looked at him for a long moment. “Oh,” he breathed out. “You don’t have to.”

“But, I...” Derek started and, with purpose, he lightly placed his hand on the boy’s jean-clad knee. The motion was awkward and Derek seemed to think that if he placed his hand too firmly on the boy he might shatter or run away. “I want to.”

Stiles grinned a little. His look conveyed a deep fondness that Derek couldn’t really comprehend, especially when it came from someone so much younger than him; someone so good. “I meant you don’t have to know how to touch me. You can just do it. But, if you don’t want to, that’s okay too. No pressure or whatever.”

“No, I want-” he began, but cut himself off. He continued to hesitate, unable to move his hand from Stiles’s knee. Noticing Derek’s inability to start, Stiles placed his fingers lightly on Derek’s and guided them to the zipper of his jeans. His fingers still lightly brushing, never forcing, Derek’s hand as he unbuttoned, unzipped, and pulled down the boy’s jeans. He helped Stiles shimmy out of his pants, which were discarded, forgotten before they hit the ground. The boy was left in grey boxers. With a gentle nudging of Stiles’s hand, Derek felt how hard the boy was through the soft, thin material.

“This is okay, Derek.” Stiles promised him, though his voice seemed a little strained, breathier, as his companion continued to palm him through his underwear. “Whatever you want to do is okay.”

Derek took his time, cupping the boy through his boxers, stroking through the material. When the boy was really squirming at the contact, Derek looked up to study him, as if he were some sort of breathless and slack-jawed wonder. The boy’s eyes were half-lidded, but fixed only on him, as Derek asked if he could go further. Stiles licked his lips and nodded.

So, after removing his boxers, Stiles positioned himself so he was more directly facing Derek, who spit into his palm and brought his hand to Stiles’s erection one more time. The boy moaned quietly and one arm instinctively reached up to clasp Derek’s biceps. Derek tried to gauge Stiles’s reaction or see how fast he should move his hand, but Stiles seemed to like it any way.

Derek leant forward to brush a kiss on the boy’s lips and, the moment he did, Stiles’s snaked his other hand into Derek’s hair, holding him close to deepen the kiss. Moments later, Stiles broke away, and Derek buried his face into the boy’s neck, as he gasped, “I’m going to come.”

Derek made a small, affirmative noise and worked him over the edge. Stiles came all over his hand with a groan.

In the moments following, after Derek had cleaned up his hand and the dried spot of come on Stiles’s cheek with his tongue and they had rearranged their bodies under the sheets, he rested his head on Stiles’s chest, listening to his heartbeat. The boy wrapped his arms around him.

Before he drifted off to sleep, he heard Stiles mumble, “Don’t know how to touch me, my ass. Bet you think you’re real cute, don’t you?”

Derek fell asleep smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from The Dislocated Room by Richard Siken, though that poem and this story have very little to do with each other. 
> 
> I'm a little nervous about this. I hope it's acceptable.


End file.
